Two Januarys ago, this guy tried to date me. I was absolutely not interested. I didn't have the heart to tell him. So, I let him see me at my very worst. Horrible hair. Horrible outfits. When I was in horrible moods, I let him take me to Walmart.
I just hoped he'd go away on his own.Unfortunately, he didn't care about my horribleness. When he asked me to go to the Elton John concert, I said yes. When we missed it, he took me to the symphony. Afterwards, in a parking lot, I told him I wasn't interested. He asked me why. I didn't have any reasons--just certainty: we'd never work.
Five months later. I was swooning out of my mind. He was an artist--and he didn't make a big deal about my writing--he just let me do my thing. He could find tools I'd never seen in my grandpa's garage. He never said mean things about people.
He always said he wanted me to write something for him. He said it could be anything. But after summer was over, and we were still friends, but not dating, I couldn't do it.
I scribbled a note in a notebook one day after running out on the great salt lake. That's it. I didn't know what to do with it--I mean, we weren't dating anymore. I mean, we looked up constellations on his iPhone while hiking. It was so fun--but how do you explain what happens afterwards? When you're still friends just because you're so happy to know each other.
Anyways, I think I figured it out.
They don't make polaroid film anymore. The last batch is two years old--and expiring this year. But Tuesday the mailman left 20 exposures in my mail box. I have no idea if they will work. My friend is letting me borrow her polaroid camera. We'll find out this weekend. I know polaroids have nothing to do with a note scribbled in a notebook.
But just wait.